When all else has gone,

Who can tell what last echoes of a fading past may remain?

The green medic could not have imagined being in this situation just a decaorn ago. He had been almost sold by his boss for parts, eaten by scraplets, and now forced to drag a defective medic to safety after the mech had attacked him and nearly ripped his servo off.

The green medic carried a small repair kit with him at all times. With the help of a few tools and a lot of luck, he managed to pop out the dent in the red mech's helm and repair the more obvious processor damage. Violent though his companion might be, the mech was also his best chance to get energon cubes from Chopper's plentiful stores.

"He's going down! Flier down! I repeat, flier down!"

"Medic, give B-239 an assist! We'll send backup as soon as we can!"

"Doc… they're gonna get us if you stay here. Don't worry about me! Go save some other mech!"

Working as fast as possible. Sharp, dark red claws stained with glowing blue. Extract bits of shrapnel before the rust sets in.

"No enemies left. They're in full retreat. You're gonna live."

"No! NO! There's another wave incoming! Fly while you still can!" Weak silver claws clutch a dark red arm. "Save yourself!"

Hostiles approaching. Grab the mech's blaster.

"Whoa, whoa! Careful with that!" The silver frame strains to grab the blaster, weak orange optics meeting determined red. "Are you glitching or what, doc? Put that down before someone gets hurt!"

Not glitching. Saving a life. I am NOT glitched. Backup is coming! Gotta hold them off, no matter what.

I'm hit! Left pede-thruster nonfunctional, processor ache…

It's nothing. Keep defending. Do not go offline. Backup is approaching! But why are they just watching?

"Do something, useless mechs! C'mon, help me!"

"Is that… a medic?" Loud voice.

"Can't be. Medics don't fight."

"But those are medical insignias."

"What? Oh, poor mech must be glitched."

Enemy advancing. We are the last... retreat. Still... online. Still online… 12% energon… someone… dragging...

Darkness.

The red mech twitched in a somewhat hidden makeshift shelter under Iacon, helm aching after the green medic's operation. The explosions of the past orn had brought back memories not recalled for megavorns.

Being rolled someplace in a berth, tied down…

"Yeah, this is the glitched medic. War's over, so I guess he's gonna get scrapped."

"Isn't it bad for our reputation if we offline that mech? I mean, new customers might not come anymore."

"Don't worry, he won't feel a thing. We could say he ran out of energon or something. Natural causes. No one'd care enough to investigate."

"Is the mech awake?"

"Nah, he couldn't go online if his glitched processor depended on it. Oh wait, it does! HAHAHA!"

...What's going on? They think I'm offline, don't they? Why am I still online…

"So, what are we doing again? Remove the processor, fix the frame, and give it away for extra energon?"

"That's the plan. Isn't that right, scrapheap?"

Knocking on my helm.

"I heard some lab right here in Iacon is paying double for glitched processors. Think we should send it there?"

"Nah, they might turn him online and he'd wonder what happened to his frame. We might get caught, and we've been running this business smoothly for over three decavorns."

"You kidding? We're top-of-the-line models. No one'd believe a glitched piece of scrap like him over us."

Time passes. Energon drops from 63% to 61% just from being idle.

"Hurry up, we don't got all vorn! These repairs are already takin' way too long."

They're going to do something to my processor, aren't they?

"Offline or be offlined, I always say. Smile!"

"You know the mech can't hear you, right?"

I… must… stay… online… I have to get out of here!

Try to online optics.

"Woah! I thought you said he wouldn't be online anytime soon!"

"Yeah, why?"

"Thought I saw his optics flicker."

"Eh, probably a trick of the light."

Static… there… white rectangle. Outside. I must get there. No choice. Must.

"This is creeping me out. Hey, let's just hurry up, alright? I'll turn it on."

Motor protocols still offline... must get limbs to work…

"Alright. I'll see to the next… customer."

There! Servo moves. Now for the thrusters… I hope my left one isn't damaged too badly...

"Hey! He twitched!"

"Stop being so paranoid! No one's caught us for three decavorns. I knew you shouldn't have had that high-grade energon yesterorn."

"Aw, come on! But it's good for me! Helps my processors run faster."

"Yeah? Sure doesn't help any other bot's processors."

Other servo working now. Must wait for them to be distracted…

"Go see the other customers. They won't wait forever. I'll handle this."

Whirr of machinery over my helm. No time. Must go now. Thrusters ignite.

"Whoa! What's happening? I thought he was offline!"

Window! Must go.

"AH! Grab him!"

CRASH!

The dark red mech jolted online with a start. The green medic stood nearby, a sheepish grin on his faceplates as he gathered an untidy heap of tools back into a rusty crate.

"What's going on? Where are we?"

"Careful, careful," warned the medic, rushing over. "I'm no processor expert, but you had a pretty big dent in yours. You should probably stay still for a while."

"Where are we," he repeated.

"Down the street from Chopper's warehouse."

"What? We have to get out of here! They'll follow—"

"Don't worry, I saw the guards go the other direction. They don't know we're here. They were having a big argument about something on a datapad."

"A datapad? Chopper must treat his mechs well… most down here can't read."

"No, I'm pretty sure they couldn't read. They were looking for someone to read it to them. I would have offered—"

"WHAT!?"

"—but they'd probably have recognized me, being Chopper's apprentice and all."

"Hn. I suppose you have some sense," the red mech conceded, clutching his helm. "Ow."

"You should get some recharge. I'll wake you if anything happens," the medic assured him. "Trust me."

The red mech looked suspiciously at his companion. Normally, any mech foolish enough to fall offline in the company of a "trusted friend" would come back online with his subspace empty, energon drained, and several vital parts missing… if he onlined at all. However, the medic had repaired him after he collapsed earlier, and nothing vital seemed to be missing.

The medic's wide, honest blue optics and his own aching helm eventually convinced him to recharge. He collapsed on the makeshift berth—more of a scrap pile, really, but the mech had recharged on far worse before—and gradually felt his systems fall into an idle state.

I'm falling! I'm falling! Left pede thruster still nonfunctional. Right pede thruster… online! Deploying wing flaps… not slowing down fast enough! AAAAH!

My helm, ow… maybe that mech will help me?

"Hey mech, mind lending me a servo? I need some directions."

"Well, I was hoping ye could give me a fair bit more than a servo, rather than me givin' ya anythin', if ya get my meanin'..." The heavily scuffed grey bot has a hopeful expression.

"What? I don't understand. I don't have any energon, if that's what you mean."

"No one does down here. No one but the Bosses, 'specially Chopper. Down here, it's offline or be offlined."

What's he doing with that buzzsaw—oh. I have to fight again? Ah! My processors... I have to delete that code sometime, I can't survive with this hindrance.

"Hey, hey… woah!" The grey bot's optics gain a greedy gleam when lasers flash online. "Nice."

Have to use my lasers. This is just like a medical procedure. I am not offlining anyone. Just… self defense.

Ow! Processor ache... I'm deleting this code.

Deleting… deleting… deleted! Great, now...

"I know a bot that'll pay a good price for those! Called Chopper. But hey, guess you won't be needin' that info anytime...ever?" The grey bot chuckles eerily. "Finders keepers, ye know?"

He's walking closer, raising his saw. This is bad.

"Stay back. I don't want to hurt you, but I will… if I must."

"Yeah right. I see those white stripes on yer wings. Yer a medic. Ye couldn't hurt me if yer spark depended on it."

Self defense. Great, no more annoying protocols. He's a four-wheeler… concentrate. What do I know about four-wheelers? Ah, yes! Their armor is thinner at the joints… a medium-level burst should do the job, if I aim right.

He's charging! Duck.

"What the—stay still, would ya?"

Laser pulse to his elbow joint as he passes, severing the anterior cables.

"Ow! Hey, I thought ye medics were supposed to be all about healin' and stuff." The grey bot looked considerably more afraid than before. "Ye—ye can't hurt me!"

"Yes, I can. I'm no medic. Not anymore."

The grey bot made another swipe with his saw. Dodge and evade. The opponent seems to be moving in slow motion, and his optics are a dimmer shade than normal. Medical analysis protocols helpfully diagnose him as suffering from energon deprivation.

"Look, mech, maybe we can help each other." Dodge the saw again. Deactivate surgical lasers in a show of goodwill. "Let's just talk this out like civilized m—"

"Help? Ye'd help me a lot more if ye'd just stop moving and lemme harvest yer parts already."

"Well, we both need energon—"

"Yeah, and yer my ticket to it." The grey bot throws his saw to the side, instead charging forward.

I'm doomed. Everybot knows grounders are stronger than fliers. Crash to the ground, struggling for the upper servo.

Not going down without a fight. Maybe his energon deprivation will give me an advantage. His blows are hard, but they seem to be falling randomly; I aim my claws between armor plates, tearing out wires I know to be vital.

My medical knowledge and higher fuel levels pay off. He puts up an admirable effort, but I manage to slash a few major energon lines. The fuel pouring from his lines glows dimly—likely unrefined energon—and his struggles eventually cease.

I've offlined a mech in cold energon. Actually, in warm energon, to be exact. I should feel something—some remorse, some ping from my medical programing—but there's nothing. Maybe they were right… maybe I really am glitched.

It doesn't matter. Now I have to hide this frame before someone notices… something tells me this Chopper fellow won't be too happy that I offlined his employee.

The mech gave a soft, mirthless chuckle at his past self's actions. Back then, he had been far too concerned with hiding the offlined grey bot to realize that the locals would not have given a second glance to a frame lying on the street—unless, of course, they intended to harvest it. As a result, he had wasted valuable energon shredding the frame, lost the opportunity to salvage its parts, and passed over a buzzsaw that would have been quite useful in orns to come.

Energon at 25%... gotta find some fuel soon.

No time. Someone could find the frame. Must dispose of it before anyone realizes that he's offline. Energon levels are low, but I must… keep… cutting. Just one pede and the torso left. I can hide the pieces with other scrap metal if they are small enough.

All done. Energon at 17%. I never noticed before… those lasers take a lot of power when left on continuously. Now fuel levels are too low to fly… I'm doomed.

Need the sky.

Where am I supposed to get energon? Doomed.

No. Must get up. Must… survive.

"Hiya. Ya look a little down on your luck. Wanna buy some merch?"

"What is it? And what's it do?"

"It'll get you higher than the moons!"

Is that interstellar-grade energon… but cloudy? It looks unsafe.

"Uh… I'll pass."

"Ya sure? Alright. If ya change yer processor, meet me in the Market. Third alley, the stall by Chopper's shop. Ya can't miss it."

Who is this Chopper, anyway? That mech said he had some energon.

Some units:
orn - day
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week
vorn - year
megavorn - 1,000,000 years

Thanks for reading.
~The Voids